


What's Left Unsaid

by Treia



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Emotionally Repressed, Flirting, M/M, Teasing, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:59:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treia/pseuds/Treia
Summary: A few years before the end of the world...After Aziraphale innocently wonders about a certain, very popular book, Crowley can't help but have some fun at his expense. In the fallout, the angel and demon don't quite come to terms with what they are.





	What's Left Unsaid

The angel was sure this must be a prank. When he had left for his customary 6:00 am morning walk, which in truth could often start at any time from 6:00 am to 11:37 am, Aziraphale's departure had been unencumbered by obstacles, let alone a dozen large cardboard boxes. Yet, upon his return to his business/divine sanctuary, the offending articles blocked the entrance to his beloved book shop.

Aziraphale might have guessed who was responsible, but the prankster had made it easy for him. Despite being several feet above him, he could hardly miss the black gift bow draped on the very topmost box. A tag dangled from the bow, waving and flapping at him in the early morning breeze

Daylight threatened to spill through the London streets, bringing with it that most oblivious of London creatures: the daily commuter. Yet Aziraphale knew he couldn't always rely upon their ability to overlook the unusual. He leaned back on his toes and surveyed the streets. Satisfied with his observations, Aziraphale snapped his fingers.

If a human being had been present, they may have felt a momentary sense of calm, but would otherwise be none the wiser. Though Aziraphale fretted, there was no real risk of his being found out. An angel's miracles are not something humans can physically perceive, even if stood right next to a celestial being.

They wouldn't have gasped in awe at the ethereal glow emanating from the angel as he unfurled his wings. They wouldn't have been astounded as Aziraphale floated upwards, gently bobbing as he reached for the tag. They wouldn't have fallen to their knees as Aziraphale descended, slowly tapping the offending paper against his lip.

"Crowley," he muttered, just as his feet touched the ground. With a sigh, he turned towards the boxes, their sides bulging with thick, rectangular shapes, and set about heaving them away from his front door.

*    *    *

The demon Crowley didn't sleep, yet he felt refreshed that morning. He grabbed the spray mister bottle, preparing to take his good mood out on his plants, when his telephone rang.

He only knew of one person, or being, who still called landline numbers. A smile began to emerge from the corner of his mouth and, by the time he picked up the receiver, it had turned into a large, tooth-filled grin.

"Hey, you've got Crowley," he drawled, relishing the moment.

"What is the meaning of this!" barked the voice.

"The meaning of what? Life, the universe and everything? It's a bit early for existential questions, don't you think?"

"You know exactly what! There's… There's boxes full of them!"

Crowley wanted to laugh, but it gave him so much more pleasure to play the innocent. He did it so well, after all.

"I mean, you're going to have to be more specific here, Azi. Take a deep breath-"

"Don't you 'Azi' me, you, you fiend!"

"Ooh, someone's got their wings in a twist. Gah, ahh, wait, of course, you got my gift!"

Crowley held the telephone away from his ear as Aziraphale spluttered for a few moments. He wished he could be there to fully witness the angel's fury.

Aziraphale appeared to be a mind reader as well as divine. Crowley could almost hear the angel stamp his foot.

"I demand you come here and deal with this, this situation immediately! What on earth am I supposed to-"

Rolling his eyes, Crowley sighed. "Fine," he announced, "but I'm doing this the quick way."

Holding the phone against his chest, Crowley leaned over and grabbed a pair of mirrored aviator shades from his desktop. He slid them on, straightened his collar, and dissolved into the phone's mouthpiece.

Travelling via phone is never dignified. However, Crowley reflected that it was marvellous fun nonetheless, and indulged in some somersaults and cartwheels along the way. Unfortunately, he was out of practice at dematerialising and lost track of time. Because of this, his re-entry took him by surprise, and instead of emerging in a calculatedly casual manner, he tumbled onto something soft and indignant.

Once his head had cleared, Crowley was bemused to find himself laying down, hard wooden floorboards pressing their existence into his back while a heavier weight lay against his torso.

To his delight, Crowley soon realised the source of this weight as he gazed up and saw Aziraphale's shocked eyes hovering inches above his own.  

Crowley raised his eyebrows as Aziraphale remained motionless on top of him.

"Feels a bit wrong this, doesn't it?" he murmured in a tone most would have interpreted as 'playful'.

Aziraphale, however, merely blinked in confusion.

"Well," Crowley said, now unable to stop his eyebrows from progressing to full-on amused waggling, "I know us demons belong underneath and everything, but this just isn't quite working for me."

Aziraphale frowned but then suddenly seemed to remember himself. Scrambling up, he began to stutter out apologies, forgetting his previous annoyance with Crowley.

"I'm so terribly sorry, I shouldn't have been so close to the phone, look, are you all right?"

Crowley shook his head to no one but himself. He tried often to tease Aziraphale, yet there was little point in trying to troll a divinely innocent being. He absentmindedly wondered why he tried.

Aziraphale offered him a hand, but Crowley knocked it away as he rose up and planted his feet firmly on the floor.

"Honestly, angel, you should apologise less and give me more space."

Aziraphale appeared to recall at this point that he was still annoyed with Crowley.

"Don't you give me that!" Aziraphale fumed. "What on earth possessed you-"

Well, now, I tend to do the possess-"

"Shut. Up. Crowley. This isn't funny."

Crowley, despite Aziraphale's blustering or perhaps because of it, thought the whole thing was exceedingly funny. Spying an open cardboard box and several books spilling from it, Crowley grinned.

"Ah, so my present did arrive!"

Before Aziraphale could say anything else, Crowley sauntered over to the box and picked up a copy of a monochromatic paperback. It had laid face down, its pages spread out from where Aziraphale had dropped it while investigating the book's contents.

Regarding it, Crowley asked, without a hint of irony, "So, do you like them?"

Aziraphale groaned and his face muscles moved up and down in a way that indicated he had many thoughts upon the books and none of them positive.

Eventually, he gave up and just sighed a weary, "Why?"

Crowley's teeth shone as he beamed at Aziraphale.

"D'you remember when we went up to Mornington Crescent?"

Aziraphale shuddered. "Yes, I do. You made us ride that… thing."

"The tube."

"The underground. You know I don't like it. It reminds me too much of the… The other side."

"Ah, that's why I felt so at home. Anyway, you saw all those people reading copies of this and you wondered if it was popular and I said, 'oof yes' and then you wondered what it was about and if you should get some for the shop and I said 'tell you what, I'll get you a copy to check out!', right?"

Crowley spread his arms out, stretching them as he pointed at all the boxes stacked in Aziraphale's shop.

"Turns out bulk buying is so much cheaper, much more cost efficient."

Aziraphale's bottom lip was so scrunched up into his mouth that Crowley thought he might be about to implode.

"I said I was curious!" Aziraphale exclaimed, his voice sounding hurt. "How was I supposed to know it was full of… That it was…"

Aziraphale's gaze darted around like he was expecting Gabriel himself to appear and smite him down for what he was about to say. Slowly he leaned forward to complete his thought.

"Racy" he whispered.

Crowley's face burst into a wide grin. "How much of it did you read?"

"Far enough, thank you!"

"Personally, I love the fact he's called 'Christian', gives the whole thing a delicious irony."

"I am honestly shocked at you. Even for a demon, this was a cruel trick!"

"Oh come on!" Crowley almost shouted. "This stuff's tame compared to some of the things I've seen. And done, seen and done, look you get the picture."

Aziraphale blushed. "I most certainly do not want to get the picture. Or the book about it."

"Oh well you definitely won't want to see the film then."

"A film!" Aziraphale exclaimed, his pale skin whitening at an alarming rate.

"Mmm, not just one, I hear," Crowley muttered, reveling in Aziraphale's discomfort. He dipped his sunglasses down so his full, beautifully serpentine eyes could be seen as he silently mouthed, "Three!"

The angel took a step backwards and slumped into a chair. After a long pause, he said, "I think I need a cup of tea."

 *    *    *

Following a refreshing slurp of Assam and a sit down in his favourite armchair, Aziraphale began to feel a great deal better. He sipped the near-heavenly beverage and eyed Crowley over the edge of his teacup. The demon was flicking through a copy of the offending book and stopping on a random page every now and then. Aziraphale watched him intently as Crowley read a few sentences before occasionally declaring it to be "tame", "not how that works" or that "he's doing it wrong!"

Once he'd done this a few hundred times, Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale.

"What I don't understand is how you could find this 'scandalous'," Crowley said, placing the book down on top of some leather bound first editions. "You were friends with Da Vinci, for Hell's sake. He got up to worse before he'd had his morning cappuccino."

Aziraphale took another sip, pressed his lips together, then returned the tea cup to its saucer as he considered his answer.

"What they 'get up to'," he said, pausing to clear his throat, "is their business. I'm an angel: I love, well, love. Romantic, sexual, platonic, and so on."

His eyes darted to the book Crowley had been reading from.

"That is most certainly not about love, sexual or otherwise."

"Oh don't be such a prude," Crowley proclaimed, walking to a chair near Aziraphale and draping himself upon it. "Come on, there's been smuttier stuff written before. Remember Lady Chatterley? De Sade? Nigella Bites?"

He stared over the top of his sunglasses at Aziraphale, his eyebrows knitting together. While Crowley had thought it hilarious to trick the angel into selling a slightly kinky book, to have it nestled between the collected works of Shakespeare and a first edition of Paradise Lost, there was something about the level of Aziraphale's discomfort that concerned him.

"Alright, it was a silly gift," he offered, which was the closest thing to an apology that Crowley could manage. "But you seem to be taking this a little hard. Ah, no pun intended."

Aziraphale sighed and placed his teacup down with a muffled clink.

"It's just. I wasn't expecting people to be reading it in public. In broad daylight!" His fingers worried at a button on his waistcoat.

The angel said nothing for a while and instead stared at a mote of dust that danced through the air as he tried to compose his thoughts.

"I mean, they're sitting on a bus or eating their lunch in the park and they're reading this at the same time and they don't seem to be-"

"Ashamed?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale stabbed the air with his finger, a smile spreading across his face.

"Yes! Yes, it's just so brazen. And, and obvious!"

Crowley tipped his head to one side and gazed at his natural enemy, a question forming in his mind.

"Do you feel this way about couples kissing in public?"

Aziraphale blushed and looked down at the floor.

Crowley scoffed in amazement. "Wait, you do, don't you? How have I never noticed this before?!

"Well, now, in all fairness, it's not like we spend vast amounts of time together when we do see each other."

"What about all that stuff to do with love and loving love and lovey lovey love love love?"

"I simply think that there are some things you just don't talk about, things that are private, things you don't share." Aziraphale may have been talking to Crowley, but he avoided looking at his eyes, opting instead to address the bookshelf behind the demon.

After a short pause, Crowley said, "You mean hidden."

Aziraphale knew he had said something wrong, but he couldn't give voice to it. The unspoken thing between them was always that, and he had never found the words to give it form.

It was private. Hidden.

Aziraphale began to stutter something but Crowley suddenly slapped his hands down on his thighs, causing the angel to jump.

"Right," Crowley began, "I'd better head off, things to do, people to torment etc etc."

The demon threw himself upwards and strode towards the phone, his fingers already dialing the number as Aziraphale started to his feet.

"Oh, you're leaving already?" the angel asked, disappointment tinting his voice. "I mean, it's been a while. Perhaps I could walk you back home, via the park, maybe see the ducks!"

Crowley didn't immediately answer and instead only held the phone to his ear. Aziraphale could have sworn he glimpsed a sadness in the demon's eyes, but Crowley had swiftly pushed his sunglasses up.

"Afraid I haven't the time," Crowley said. "And anyway, you go too slow for me, Aziraphale."

With that, Crowley dissipated into the phone, the receiver dropping to the floor. Aziraphale gazed at it for a long moment, letting the silence settle upon him. Eventually, he bent down and replaced the phone to its correct position.

Looking at the boxes, Crowley's ridiculous gift to him, Aziraphale thought about what to do. He wondered if there was anyone who would appreciate them.

Standing by the open cardboard box, he picked up the copy Crowley had been holding and stared at it for a while. Wearing a smile he didn't understand, Aziraphale made a mental note to send Crowley a thank you card.

"He'll hate that," Aziraphale said aloud to no one but himself. Still, the thought gave him a warm feeling, one that carried the angel through the arduous task of delivering twelve boxes filled with identical books to those who might need them.

The next day, several charity shops in a 2 mile radius had to put up notices wryly thanking their mysterious benefactor, and informing others that they would no longer accept donations of 50 Shades of Grey, thank you very much.


End file.
